


Face the Music

by astudyinfic



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, canon Mycroft, meet cute, street musician Greg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:24:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22720177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astudyinfic/pseuds/astudyinfic
Summary: Someone keeps dropping a large sum in Greg's violin case every Friday.  This week, he's going to figure out who it is.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 12
Kudos: 123





	Face the Music

**Author's Note:**

  * For [janto321 (FaceofMer)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Mer! I hope you enjoy this!
> 
> Thanks to K for the beta!

Greg didn’t need to look at his watch to know it was almost time. He saw the same faces pass by day after day and knew that soon enough, his anonymous benefactor would be one. He had yet to figure out who it was as it always happened during rush hour when the Ministry was letting out for the night and hundreds of people shuffled by on their way to the tube or their cars. Bodies shuffled by, shoulders slumped from the exhaustion of a long day in the office. Not that Greg knew about that anymore.

He spent his days on this street corner, violin in hand, playing through old classics and new faves for the commuters who walked past. He made enough to get by. His flat wasn’t flashy, his car wasn’t new, but he managed a living doing what he loved the most.

Occasionally someone’s eyes would light up when he started a song they particularly loved, or a small child would stop to dance for a moment. Those were the times when Greg knew he’d made the right decision.

Most of his success was thanks to one person, a mysterious benefactor who dropped a large amount of money in his case every Friday afternoon. He had yet to figure out who this person was and today - _today_ \- was the day he would finally spot them in the crowd. His case was in a different position, somewhere it would be easier for him to play and watch at the same time.

With everything in place, Greg played. And he waited.

* * *

Mycroft had the small wad of bills in this pocket, ready to drop it in the case as he walked by. For the last few months, the violinist had been there right by his office. All day long, rain or shine, the man played. He was good. Good enough to be a professional Mycroft thought, though he acknowledged that his expertise did not lie in music. He knew what he liked, not what was necessarily considered ‘good’. (Sherlock could probably tell him but Mycroft didn’t want to give his brother this kind of ammunition. Most likely he would deduce it the next time they saw one another but until then, Mycroft didn’t feel like giving away anything more than necessary.)

But Mycroft would be lying if he said the only reason he gave the musician money every week was his playing.

He didn’t know the man’s story, though he could have found out easily enough. Instead, he was satisfied with the few minutes of music he received every day and the view which was nicer than any scene London had to offer. The man was handsome in a way that caused several heads to turn in his direction, and a possessive side flared in Mycroft every time it happened. He didn’t even know he had it in him to be possessive, particularly of someone he didn’t actually know.

Mycroft feared the man would stop coming to the corner by the Ministry if he wasn’t making enough money, so every week, Mycroft left a tidy sum in the hopes it would encourage him to come back. Whether that was the reason the man returned or not, he didn’t know, but he didn’t want to take the risk by missing even a single week.

* * *

Several people dropped money in his case that day, though it was harder than Greg realised to keep track of who was giving what when most of his focus was on his music. He noted a few faces, including a tall, handsome man Greg had seen around on many other occasions. Every day, if he wasn’t mistaken. He had a knack for faces and that was one he wouldn’t be forgetting any time soon.

Greg hoped the man was his benefactor because it meant he enjoyed his music. And sure enough, when he went to put his violin away fro the night, there was the same stack of bills that had been there consistently for weeks. Pocketing his earnings, Greg smiled to himself, knowing that Monday couldn’t come soon enough.

* * *

Unlike every other time, the violinist watched him that night. They’d made eye contact briefly and Mycroft was both intrigued and unsettled. Most people found him intimidating and looked away after only a moment. The violinist didn’t seem intimidated in the least. That just made him more fascinating.

Mycroft spent the weekend thinking about the man, making his silent deductions about him. He was a former cop. He was divorced. He was left-handed. He was very talented. The last one wasn’t much of a deduction.

Come Monday morning, Mycroft was more nervous than he’d ever been to go to work. Because he would have to walk past the man he spent the entire weekend thinking of. He’d never been more thankful that Sherlock avoided him much of the time. There was no way he could have hidden his thoughts from his too-perceptive brother.

With his shoulders back and face in an impassive mask, Mycroft walked slowly but with an unfaltering gait past the man in question. Who locked eyes on him the moment he could and held the gaze the entire time Mycroft walked by.

He was shaken by the time he got to his office and needed several deep breaths to get himself together. He had a job to do and he was Mycroft Holmes, not some teenager swooning over their favourite musician.

No, he was the British government swooning over his favourite musician.

* * *

For the entire week, Greg caught the man’s eye, watching him as he walked into his office and then watching him as he walked out. He smiled and nodded on occasion, not wanting to appear creepy but he didn’t think the man would be upset by such a small thing.

On Friday, when the man passed by, Greg winked at him, delighting in the flush that it brought to his cheeks. Even if this man wasn’t his mysterious donor, Greg wanted to meet him. Wanted to talk to him. Wanted to get to know him.

But he sort of hoped he was also the donor.

That afternoon, when the Ministry yet again let out for the weekend, the usual faces walked by, including the handsome man in a bespoke suit. He dropped something in the case, though Greg couldn’t see it well enough to see _what_ he dropped. Then the man was gone and Greg finished up his performance and packed up for the night.

When he grabbed the small roll of bills that he knew would be there, Greg noticed something else tucked inside. He pulled it out and couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his lips.

* * *

At home, just about to sit down for dinner, Mycroft’s phone rang from the table beside him. “Holmes,” he answered, unsure who would be calling but hopeful all the same.

“Mycroft?” a man’s voice asked from the other end. “This is Greg. I play the violin. You left me your number.”

Mycroft smiled and settled back in his chair. “Gregory. I had hoped you would call.”

They talked for hours, setting up a time to meet over the weekend. Mycroft didn’t notice his dinner grow cold or anything but the comforting sound of Greg’s voice. He sounded like he played. Soulful. Hopeful.

Mycroft could listen to him forever. And rather hoped he would.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I wrote Mystrade. I hope I at least got close to their voices. lol


End file.
